


don't apologize

by tenderlybarnes



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Language, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, bit of angst, but a very happy ending, discussions of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderlybarnes/pseuds/tenderlybarnes
Summary: Sometimes Sam Wilson can’t sleep. But Bucky Barnes won’t let him go through it alone. Featuring some tender first kisses.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 91





	don't apologize

**Author's Note:**

> Sam Wilson deserves tenderness and proper attention to his own struggles. Immensely self-indulgent Sam Wilson love here, y’all.

Bucky wakes up to the sound of screaming. It startles him, because he normally doesn’t wake himself up. After a few bleary moments of squinting at the digital clock on his bedside table, trying to orient his brain as the fog of sleep lingers over him, he realizes that the screams weren’t his. Aren’t his. They’re Sam’s. 

Bucky slips out of bed, slides his feet into his fuzzy house slippers, and ties his house robe around his bare torso and sweat pants before padding down the hall to Sam’s room. The door is cracked-- Sam never slept with it fully shut in case Alpine decided she wanted to camp out in his room instead of Bucky’s-- and Bucky peers inside. 

Sam is twisted in his sheets, hands fisted against the pillows, and his chest rattles with ragged breaths. Alpine is perched on the corner of the mattress, watching him curiously. 

“Shoo, baby girl,” Bucky whispers and nudges the cat out of the way. She nips at his hand but otherwise slinks away good-naturedly to stretch out across Sam’s desk.

Bucky clambers into bed beside Sam and tentatively rubs his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, you’re okay.” 

Sam’s one of the strongest people Bucky’s ever known. Selfless to a fault, intensely smart, and always able to get a laugh out of Bucky-- his heart seizes in his chest at the thought of Sam hurting. 

Sam struggles against unseen forces once again and bolts upright in bed with a tremendous yell. Bucky startles back, almost falling on his butt. He braces one foot against the floor just in time and shifts his weight on the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t touch Sam. He knows better, knows from his own flashbacks how easy it is to accidentally hurt the person trying to comfort you. Instead, he watches Sam try to catch his breath, one hand clutched to his chest, the other pressed into the comforter.

“Sam?” Bucky asks softly.

Sam shudders and glances at him. “You saw that, huh? Sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t ever apologize to me, Sam Wilson,” Bucky says sternly. “You’ve pulled me through some of my worst moments. I wouldn’t leave you to go through it alone.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never woken you up before,” Sam says.

“So?” Bucky replies. “Sam, I’ve been sleeping better because of you. Because of what you’ve done for me. For tonight to be this bad, well...” Bucky pauses, chews the pad of his thumb, a leftover nervous habit from his youth. “Well, it must’ve been pretty bad to get you like this.”

Sam buries his face in his hands. 

“I’m gonna touch your shoulder, okay?” Bucky says before reaching out to his friend and shifting to pull his weight back against him. Bucky’s back is against the headboard, legs outstretched, and Sam has his head tucked down against Bucky’s ribs, curled in on himself. Bucky feels like his heart is cracking open.

“You don’t have to talk about it, okay?” Bucky says. “I’ll stay here as long as you like. Or I can leave. Just tell me what you need.”

Sam stretches an arm around Bucky’s waist, grips him tight. “Stay.”

“Okay.” Bucky’s hand makes slow, methodical circles between Sam’s shoulder, massaging out the knots in his muscles. 

They sit in silence. Bucky can feel Sam’s tears soaking through his house robe.

“Bucky?” Sam says at last, hiccuping. 

“Yeah?” Bucky replies.

“It’s hard sometimes...” Sam starts, then stops.

“To sleep?” Bucky offers.

Sam’s voice is quiet. “Yeah.” 

“I know,” Bucky says. “You can always come get me.” 

Sam sighs. He twists to look up at Bucky. His eyes are red and there are still tears slipping down his face. “It’s hard to be open, Bucky.”

Bucky reaches up, cradles Sam’s face, swipes a few tears away. Sam leans his head against Bucky’s palm. 

“It’s not easy,” he says, “when everyone expects you to be strong. When you’re the one running group therapy... when you’re the one people know they can come to... Bucky, I love what I do, really, I love that I can help... but it makes me feel weak sometimes, you know? That I’m like this... that I can help everyone else but not me...”

“Sam Wilson,” Bucky says, pulling back and holding Sam up by his shoulders. He studies his friend’s eyes intently. “You are not weak. You are the strongest person I know. What you just described? That’s _strength_ , to be able to take care of other people. And struggling? Needing help yourself? That does not make you weak. Cause if it does, then I’m the biggest wimp of us all.”

Sam starts to protest and Bucky shushes him. “Sam, you are the best person in my life. You are kind. You are so funny. You are radiant. And you should never, ever think less of yourself.”

Sam reaches up, wraps a hand around Bucky’s wrist. “Thank you.”

Bucky pulls him close again and nestles down into bed with him, tucking the comforter snugly around Sam’s body. “I’ll go and let you sleep.”

“No,” Sam says, his grip on Bucky’s wrist tightening. “Stay. Please?”

“Of course,” Bucky replies and settles down next to him, bunching the spare pillow between his shoulder and head. He twined his fingers with Sam’s and pressed their foreheads together. 

He had always been soft for Sam. From the moment he woke up as himself again, there was Sam. Normal, delightful Sam, who never treated him like he was on the verge of breaking. Sam, who would tease him mercilessly, call him Rapunzel for his long hair, try to stick fridge magnets to his metal arm. Sam, who left notes on Bucky’s bathroom mirror, sometimes reminders to pick up more milk, other times just dumb jokes. Sam, who made life feel so much less weird and disastrous.

Bucky leans forward, presses his lips to Sam’s cheek. Kisses the tears away. Moves to the other cheek and does the same. His breath hitches in his throat, heart hammering as he waits for Sam’s reaction, expecting him to kick him out. Sam squeezes his hand tighter and lets out a staccato sob. Bucky kisses his cheeks until the tears stop, until Sam’s breathing becomes steady, his head pressed against Bucky’s chest, and all Bucky can hear is the thundering of his own heart in his ears.

_

When Bucky wakes up, he’s alone and he can’t remember how he got to a room that isn’t his. Did he sleepwalk somewhere again? There’s a weight on his chest and something flicks him in the face. He startles, sending Alpine skittering from his face in annoyance.

“Well good morning to you too,” Bucky says as he gets his bearings. Sam’s room. Gentle morning light filtering through the blinds. The bedsheets that smell like him, warm and with an undertone of cinnamon from that gum he always chews. 

Bucky can hear rustling in the kitchen and he pulls himself from bed. His house robe fell off sometime during the night and he gathers it up, pulling it on as he leaves Sam’s room, not bothering to tie it shut. He finds Sam in the kitchen, singing softly to radio and shaking his hips as he stirs scrambled eggs around in the pan. The spatula serves as his imaginary microphone.

Bucky leans against the doorframe and watches him, smiling to himself as his friend shimmies his shoulders. There’s dark circles under his eyes, the remnants of his haunted expression from last night linger. 

Finally, Bucky speaks. “Morning, dancing queen.”

Sam startles, chokes on his words, and drops the spatula into the eggs. “Fuck, Barnes, you could give a man heart failure sneaking in like that. And for the love of god, tie up that house robe. Those abs are offending my delicate sensibilities.” 

But he’s laughing as he says it, as he wipes egg from the spatula handle, and Bucky knows things will be okay. As long as Sam Wilson is laughing, things will be okay. 

“Make any for me?” Bucky asks, pulling plates from the cabinet. All they own is mismatched plastic dishes and Bucky sets out a plate decorated with dinosaurs for himself and a blue floral one for Sam.

“Of course I did.” Sam rolls his eyes. “You think I’d let you starve? You can barely work a microwave, man.”

“Well, I’m not exactly practiced with all of this,” Bucky replies with a smirk. 

He can’t stop thinking about kissing Sam. About holding his face in his hands, about last night, cradling him close, lips pressed to Sam’s cheeks. 

Sam loads their plates with eggs, bacon, and toast while Bucky fixes two cups of coffee (Sam takes his with an ungodly amount of sugar). As they settle in at the breakfast nook, Bucky glances over at Sam and clears his throat.

“About last night,” Bucky begins. “I, uh... well, are you doing okay? And, um, also I’m sorry? If it wasn’t, uh, okay, um, for me...”

Sam waves a hand to cut him off. “Stop apologizing. You’ll ruin it.”

“Ruin...it..?” Bucky asks slowly, his fork frozen between his plate and his mouth. 

Sam sips his coffee. “Shit, Barnes, you think I let just anyone cuddle me?”

“I-” Bucky splutters. “You- wait...I’m? What?”

Sam seems entirely unfazed. “To answer your first question, I feel better this morning than I did last night. Thank you, for being there. For not getting scared away.”

Bucky swallows thickly. “Well, I... I mean, of course? I... yeah.”

Sam smirks. “But as for kissing me? You can do that anytime.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “You... um? Does that...do you mean? Hang on- I can? What?”

“I said,” Sam replies with a twirl of his fork, “that you can kiss me anytime.” 

Bucky drops his silverware and pushes back from the table. Sam raises an eyebrow. It feels like a challenge and an invitation all in one. He wipes his hands against his house robe, trying to hide how sweaty and shaky they’ve become. 

Carefully, he cups Sam’s face and hunches over, a small smile playing across his lips. Sam grins.

“Well, frostbite? It’s about damn time you made a move.”

“Oh, hush,” Bucky says. “Let me just... just hold on to how perfect this moment is.”

“Barnes, you have morning breath and I’m pretty sure some of Alpine’s hair is stuck in your ear,” Sam teases. 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t care. It’s perfect because of _you_.” 

And with that, Sam is pulling him down at the same time that he’s pulling Sam up and their lips crash together as their legs tangle together awkwardly. Bucky is so swept up, his legs turning to jelly, that it’s easy for Sam to pull him onto his lap. Bucky breaks the kiss, panting, and presses his nose to Sam’s. He’s blushing furiously and his heart is in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, savors this moment, the taste of Sam’s hellishly sugared coffee lingering against his lips. Sam reaches up, tucks some of Bucky’s hair back. 

“You have one terrible case of bedhead,” he laughs. 

Bucky lets out a short bark of laughter and shakes his head, rubbing his nose against Sam’s. He grins and they linger against each other, breathing each other in, Bucky tracing lines along Sam’s shoulders, and he thinks how much he he can’t wait to make Sam smile like this every day.


End file.
